When The Parents Are Away
by peaceandlove23
Summary: They needed a sitter, and the last person they expected offered to do it. (Sherlock is property of the BBC and combined work of Moffat and Gatiss, I own nothing.)


**It's been ages since I've written here, and ages since I've written a Sherlock fic, and even longer since I've browsed the Sherlock section of this site, so if this has been done before, I'm sorry, and I hope my flabby fanfic writing abilities aren't too bad. ;)**

**Sherlock is property of the BBC and combined work of Moffat and Gatiss**

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><p>It had surprised them both. Reasonably so, because the volunteer was not known for being particularly good with kids, not to mention babies.<p>

John remembered the two girls who came to the flat about their grandmother, three years ago, who Sherlock had no problem telling that their grandmother's body was burned. And then of course when they found out how He had convinced Artie to behave during the wedding.

So when John mentioned that he _would _in fact be able to travel to Wales on Friday (a case involving sheep with patches of their wool missing) with his friend after all, two things surprised him.

The first thing, was that Sherlock remembered he had turned the offer down earlier in the week, because he had plans with Mary. They had been the first "plans" since Grace was born.

John explained the sitter (neighborhood girl, who's mother they have come to know well, and in turn the girl herself, as a reasonably responsible teenager) had cancelled on them, and they couldn't think of anyone else to look after the baby.

The second thing that surprised John Watson, was Sherlock's quick, "I'll watch her."

"But...what about Wales?"

"It's just sheep." He looked back at the test tubes and chemicals on the table. "I already worked out what happened, going to Wales was just to confirm my theory...but they can wait." He said, not really looking at John. Almost bashful for offering the baby sit, which is what made John skeptical.

It took some convincing, mainly on Sherlock's part, but after assurance that yes, he knew how to change a nappy, and yes he could feed a baby, yes he knew their mobiles numbers, and the emergency numbers, and the neighbors' numbers, that the parents agreed, and put trusted him with their daughter's charge.

Gracie was almost a year old, and Mary had showed him how to hold her countless times. And each one of those times, she noticed he looked somewhat nervous, and a bit scared though he said nothing of it. Then again so was John when Grace was only a few weeks old. It was the usually wariness, from fear of hurting the baby.

And now they were coming home, after leaving him with her for two hours.

All evening they had resisted the urge to check on them, to call. Both had expected a call from Sherlock, or a neighbor, or the hospital, or the police, but their mobiles stayed silent all evening. And now they were home.

"Ready?" John asked, before opening the door.

"Whatever's happened, whatever we find in there; it's going to be completely our fault." Mary stated.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"And if they're both dead-"

"Our fault."

"Yeah."

"We'll be the worst parents ever."

"...Yeah..."

With a deep breath by both of them, the door was opened, and they braced themselves for anything.

No alarm was going off, at least. The house didn't smell like smoke, but there was an odor coming from the kitchen. Mary ventured in, while John headed towards the den.

The floor of the kitchen had baby food thrown and spread all over the floor. She could make out a footprint in the stuff and a dishtowel that had been used to either clean Gracie (or Sherlock's shoe) crumpled by the stove.

Apparently she didn't want to eat her dinner, and apparently Sherlock hadn't attempted to clean it up. As for the smell, Mary found it was coming from a used nappy in the trash, that hadn't been closed properly.

John had found the den as messy as they left it, toys everywhere and a packet of wipes in the corner. The tellie was off, and as far as he could tell there wasn't any signs of a panic or disaster. Though there was (what he hoped it was) baby powder on the floor, and the blanket they used to change Grace on.

"So far so good." He said, when Mary joined him.

Up the stairs then. It was only when they began climbing, and the initial worry began to leave their minds, the parents became aware of the song that had been playing.

When they first entered the house, they had both been listening for the fire alarm, or the baby crying, or expecting to smell smoke, or something else, and it must have drowned out the soft light notes being played.

It was a lullaby, neither could recall the name, but it was one of those you've heard so many times before. That was familiar, and light. Immediately John and Mary went to the nursery, and slowly opened the door. Both couldn't help but smile at the scene. The player was walking slowly around the crib. His sharp eyes looking down and focused on the tiny audience.

His hand moving the bow gracefully, and played for a few moments more. Then stopped. Still took no notice of the observers as he put the violin down on the window sill. Then rested an arm on the crib's side, facing the door, and watched the baby sleep peacefully. The smallest beginnings of a smile on his lips, and he reached a hand down, probably to draw the blanket over her.

Mary had muted her phone, turned off the flash, and slowly rose it to eye level.

Sherlock looked up a second after the picture was taken. He didn't seem surprised to see them there, and John wondered if he hear them come in.

"How was you night?" He whispered, stepping away from the crib, and putting his violin back into it's case.

"It was good. And yours?"

"Fine."

"Grace didn't give you any trouble?" Mary asked in a whisper, closing the door after Sherlock and John stepped out.

"She threw a fit when I tried to feed her, but no. Not really."

He did sound a bit like someone who was caught at something they weren't suppose to be doing, or in this case, felt they weren't suppose to be doing. He also wasn't looking either of them in the eye as he headed towards the door. It brought grins to both their faces.

"Sherlock." John called out, as the man was about to leave. He turned around, and waited, the blue-gray eyes looked at the floor, not John.

"Thank you."

"Mhmm."

"Really." Mary added, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Sherlock opened the door and when it was closed, the new parents shared a small chuckle.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Review if you want! <strong>


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